


Sam Wilson's Day

by aireagoir



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Awesome Sam Wilson, Chocolate, Fluff, Friendship, Sam Wilson Is a Good Bro, Team as Family
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-16
Updated: 2016-07-16
Packaged: 2018-07-24 08:22:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,823
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7501038
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aireagoir/pseuds/aireagoir
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This is Sam's day.<br/>No, really, it's Sam's day.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sam Wilson's Day

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Aimily](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aimily/gifts).



> For someone requiring Sam-centric fluff in her life.

***

Sam wakes up feeling good. Today is gonna be a day for Sam. Today is Sam’s day.

He gets out of bed and, oh, dammit. He’s got a pile of supersoldier on the couch.

“Bucky? You in there, pal?” Sam is still having a good day, but part of that day does not include death wishes. It’s been a good, long while since the Winter Soldier made a house call, but it doesn’t cost anything to check.

“Sam?”

Oh, shit. That’s Bucky’s tiny voice.

“Hey, Buck. I’m coming into the living room now, you wanna give me hint as to what I’m about to find?”

“I’m OK, Sam.”

Sam walks in, and sees Bucky wrapped in the blanket he uses at Sam’s when he needs extra comfort. Without thinking about it Sam goes into telegraph mode, making sure every gesture is a bit more obvious, a bit more planned. He sits at the other end of the couch, and carefully takes everything but light curiosity out of his voice. “How are you in DC, dude?”

Bucky shifted a little. “We had to fly in last night. Do you remember the Senator from Nebraska, the one that was against healthcare for soldiers a couple of years ago and never wanted the VA to have anything?”

“Well, yeah, Buck. We take turns putting pictures of those Senators on the dartboard at the meeting room.”

“She was Hydra.”

“And you came down to grab her, and…?” This was weird. Steve and Bucky didn’t willingly separate.

“Steve got hurt and they won’t let me be at the hospital by him because we’re not legally married then we had to talk about marriage and I, I lost it, Sam, and I don’t know how to make it better, but I’m sorry. I really am,” there was more, but Bucky was crying.

Sam had to go slowly here, “lost it” could mean many things, from punched a hole in a wall to assassinating a floor full of innocent people before he de-Wintered. Thawed, if you will.

Concern for Bucky was the way to get info here, then he could confirm with Nat or Clint. “Bucky, what did you do when you, as you put it, ‘lost it’ in the hospital?”

Bucky curled up in the blanket, facing the back of the couch. “Made sure the ambulance that brought Steve was empty. Then threw it. At a building. Nobody hurt. Ambulance and Plant Services building totaled. It was 5:34 am. I knew nobody would be in Plant Services until 8:30.”

Sam took a deep breath. This was still a good day for Sam. “Dude, since I clearly don’t have a running partner this morning, I’m gonna visit Steve. How about you stay here, have a grilled cheese, and watch “The Princess Bride” til I call you, yeah? Eat what you like from the kitchen, get rest, it’ll work out, all right?”

“’K, Sam. Sorry, Sam.”

“Shit happens, brother. I’m real proud of you that you checked to make sure you wouldn’t hurt anyone.”

*

Sam threw on jeans and a T, then his lanyard from the VA. He actually had purposely taken today off, asked for it three weeks ago (if we’re being honest) but the VA ID got him some leverage in hospitals when known veterans were injured. He got in the car, texting before he drove to confirm Bucky’s version of events. Nat texted back “ _Yes. Tony already wrote check to cover damages, Steve not bad but pls come_.”

Steve not bad? Huh.

Sam drove 60 most of the way, figuring the cops were busy dealing with the fallout that accompanied any Avenger visit.

Sam ran into the ED, first seeing Clint. Oh my Jesus, that was a ton of blood. He was out for the count. “Clint? Yo, birdman? Gimme a flap here, bro.” Natasha was walking down the hall, her arm in a sling and looking…nasty. Her face was puffy, her hair was shorn off in six places where she got stitches…”Girl, I love you, but you look like hell. Whose ass do I need to kick?”

Nat’s smile was wan and hampered by a split lip. “Everybody from the Nebraska office was Hydra. All of them, from the Senators to the interns. They were all trained to die fighting. Hydra started with a complete takeover of Kansas, destroyed their state with the help of Governor Sam Brownback, and then moved north. The stories that the Nebraska governor tried to execute people using drugs he bought himself from India were a cover; Hydra was supplying him. Thor and Bruce flew there two hours ago to contain their government; Tony is cleaning up at the Capitol, our best guess is that Hydra is continuing to move north to the oil supply in North Dakota. Rhodey mobilized the National Guard and Army Reserve to protect the oil supplies. We’re fine; that bitch Senator tried to cut me in the head with a letter opener shaped like the Nebraska State Capitol. I got cut by a statue of some dude throwing seeds off the top of the Penis of the Plains. Honestly, Sam, what is my life, right now? It’ll take me months to grow this hair back.”

“I’m sorry, baby girl. For real though, why aren’t people freaked that Clint is passed out in a pool of blood?”

“Oh. None of it is his. Clint’s just sleeping. He got into an arrow fight with an intern who hunts with a bow and arrows. The Midwest. It turned into an Iowa vs. Nebraska thing. Like, fucking pioneers, or whatever. I swear to God, Sam, gimme aliens any day.”

“And Steve?”

“He needed deep stitches. The doc said it wasn’t safe to count on the serum stopping blood from flowing too close to some exposed spinal cord. Let me guess. You have a puddle of Bucky back at your place?”

“Yeah. He threw an ambulance?”

Clint stirred. “Hey, blackbird. Oh, I’ve been kicking around bird nicknames. Is blackbird too race-weird?”

“Dude, we’ll work on it, get to the part where Bucky threw an ambulance.”

Clint and Nat looked at each other. Clint seemed to draw the short straw.

“Bucky couldn’t stay and give consent for treatment because they aren’t married. Cap said they should be. Turns out they’ve both had the proposal planned for weeks, now it popped out in a gross hospital bed, them all covered in other people’s blood plus assorted effluvia and the doctor was sort of bitchy about ‘treatment now, life decisions later’ then Bucky thought everything was ruined and he pouted. You pretty much got treated to the hind end of a Stucky temper tantrum there, man. Sorry.”

Sam winced. “Stucky? Eeew. Not Okay. Starbucks is better. Stucky sounds like glue, or, industrial adhesive. Gross.”

Nat sighed, “WHATEVER SAM, I have no hair, go away now.”

Sam went back home, wondering why this happens to him. His day was starting to deflate.

*

Back home, the Ucky half of the Name that was Not Okay was watching a cooking show. Sam assured him everything was fine and Steve should be back to Sam’s place soon. He then went into his room, briefly reviewed his life choices, and fell asleep, having gotten stuck at the part where he began running with Steve Rogers and being fine with getting lapped like a kid in the third grade.

He woke up.

He woke up realizing he never put limits to what couldn’t be touched in the. Damn. Fridge.

“Bucky,” he yelled, “any chance you didn’t eat the cake in the fridge?”

“Uh, no. I’ll buy you another one.”

Of course.

Of course he ate the triple fudge cake in the fridge.

That was from his favorite bakery.

For today.

Sam’s day.

*

Sam came out an hour later. He forgot to check, because it was his house and he was sleepy.

Sam caught one glimpse of Captain America’s bare ass thrusting ON HIS COUCH and went back into his bedroom. To re-review his life choices and figure out how to make choices that included budgeting for a new couch.

Sam came out in another hour. He was treated to a smiling Bucky, a smiling Cap, and a small assortment of noises from texts, iPads and his TV showing faces of friends beaming at the news that Steve and Bucky were officially engaged. Sam’s day was kinda slipping away from him.

He manned up, walked into his own living room, and gave his friends giant hugs, congratulating them on their fantastic news. Sam even took a shower and got in the car to drive out to the bar where Clint, a wigged Natasha, Tony, Phil, Pepper, Cap and Bucky had a ton of appetizers and drinks to celebrate the official Best Day Ever for his friends.

Then, because it was today, it was Sam’s day, a day _for Sam,_ he asked the server to please bring him the largest serving of chocolate cake with the biggest, fluffiest pile of whipped cream the bar could possibly manage.

She did, and he sat the cake in front of him and inhaled the beautiful fudgy scent. He grabbed his fork and took a giant bite, managing to get a generous serving of whipped cream in there as he went.

The other members of the team looked at Sam, somewhere between food lust and surprise. It was (typical) Tony to finally ask, “You gonna share with the rest of the class, or at least anybody here responsible for literally being the wind beneath your mechanical wings?”

Sam looked at each team member, in turn, smiling without apology or shame.

“No. No, y’all, I am not. Today is my day. It is Sam’s day. Did you notice I didn’t need work clothes, Bucky? You folks wonder, even a little, why I didn’t need to rearrange my schedule to come to the hospital? You spare a quick query as to how Sam ended up taking care of a pile o’ supersoldier ‘til his bae showed up to seal the marriage deal? Bucky, you even ask yourself how there’d be a fudge cake in the middle of the fridge, packaged up from my favorite bakery just waiting to get eaten in a fit of soppy misery? No. No, you did not. The answer, y’all, is hella simple.

“Today is September 23rd. It’s my birthday. This is MY day, and if you want chocolate cake then you all can order your own."

Sam radiated charisma and joy as he repeated the mantra.

“Today is **Sam’s** day.”

And he ate his damn cake. All of it. WITH the whipped cream.

No Hydra Senators, no stitches, no flying ambulances, no supersoldiers exchanging bodily fluids on his couch (though that was a close one), no engagements, not even no favorite cake was gonna ruin Sam's day.

Today was gonna be a day for Sam.

Today was Sam's day.

 

 

 

 

 


End file.
